


Impossible Equation

by Grovehove



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen, M/M, Parentlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-13
Updated: 2013-10-26
Packaged: 2017-11-16 06:12:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/536370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grovehove/pseuds/Grovehove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is set in the world of "And Then There were Three". It's Sherlock's POV and how he copes with Jocelyn's intrusion in their lives, for Sherlock its an impossible equation, three does not fit into two...<br/>It dawned on me that my episodic chapters sometimes missed out things that could be interesting, . What happened when Joss stepped foot into Baker street for the first time? What happens on Joss first day at school... what happens.. get the picture.<br/>No real plot just character development  want to explore things couldn't in ATTT. Hope you enjoy. <br/>Please comment if you like, if you don't like, if you are bored, if you want to test your keyboard, comment / review for any reason you want, just please please review …. Hugs xxxx</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Standing on the Threshold

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [And Then There were Three](https://archiveofourown.org/works/528902) by [Grovehove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grovehove/pseuds/Grovehove). 



 

Sherlock sat in his favourite chair, knees hunched up, and his forefingers tucked under his chin lin the shape of a pyramid, he stared grimly at the fair haired girl in the doorway. He could quite happily destroy Mycroft. This was his fault; all his damn fault and Sherlock would find a most appropriate method to get his own back for his elder brother's total lack of judgement and sheer insensitivity.

 

Mycroft had upset John, had upset the balance of their life together, and that damn episode in the warehouse had been a retrograde step in the slow but sure building of that new life together. John had just started to trust him again; they had gone back to the life Sherlock had longed for, after all those hard years away, after the vicious public censure and then saccharine sweet public remorse, the icing on the cake was that John finally, finally reciprocated the same feelings and there had been no more boring, vexatious females in John's life to deal with or, foil, or fob off.

Now because of Mycroft, damn his eyes, damn his calorie addicted cake eating fat thick skinned big boned big brother, there was a female in the equation who was infinitely more dangerous to Sherlock's peace of mind and their new relationship. John's teenage daughter. John's teenage grieving daughter no less. John's teenage grieving daughter who was now part of their lives

John's teenage daughter who stood in the doorway of the living room to 221B, looking as if she was being dragged into the gladiatorial arena to wait for the lions to devour her,

John's teenage daughter who wouldn't look at either of them long enough for Sherlock to even clearly see her eye colour, although based on her skin tone, and the genetic possibilities, it was no doubt they were some shade of blue.

John's teenage daughter who had vomited all over Mycroft's shoes when he had told her John was her father. (The look on Mycroft's face had been priceless, almost worth the excruciatingly overblown emotional episode in the first place, but for a few seconds John had looked ….destroyed, then his doughty soldiers' expression had returned and wiped out any personal emotion)

John's teenage daughter, who even refused to respond to the maternalistic machinations of his dear Mrs Hudson.

John's teenage daughter who hadn't even looked up when John had introduced himself " _Call me John"_ and Sherlock. She had pretended not to know who they were, which had also irritated Sherlock, because how could she not know who Sherlock Holmes and Dr John Watson were, after the hoo-ha in the press. She was simply being rude. Obnoxious brat

" _You can come through the door you know, its not booby trapped….yet_ " he told her with irritation. An irritation which grew even more when he saw the small flinch and the way she seemed to shrink away from his voice.

" _Sherlock_ " John's reprimand sounded tired, God his John looked tired, he looked tired and depressed and out of his depth, he hadn't seen that expression on his face since his return… Damn the girl for bringing it back. Damn Mycroft for bringing it back.

He saw his John turn to the obstinate young female in the doorway, and with an effort, gentled his voice  
 _  
"Jocelyn, let me show you to your room and then we can all have a nice cup of tea"._

What the hell did she find frightening about that? Sherlock hadn't missed her flight response to the words. What did she think she was doing here, unless it was to move in with them, damn her, damn Mycroft, damn her dead mother.

For the first time since the warehouse, since they had actually met her three hours ago, the girl raised her head and stared at the pair of them.

She was about half an inch below average height, she must look more like her mother than John, she had fair hair but John's hair did not have the tendency to curls or that shade of strawberry blonde, she only seemed to share his stubborn chin and the deep blue eyes. They were definitely her fathers eyes, Sherlock catalogued quickly.   
She was still in her school uniform, black trousers, white polo shirt and navy embroidered cardigan. Her clothes were well looked after but not new. She'd had the same uniform for a couple of years. She hadn't grown much since they were initially purchased, and she was too thin.

She was pale, anxious rather than anaemic, but she was using all her courage to face her father, while darting quick nervous glances Sherlock.

" _Please, why can't I go back to Cardiff?"_ her voice had a light lilting welsh accent; he realised that it was the first time any of them had heard her speak. She had sat in that warehouse, staring at a group of strangers shouting and making arrangements for her future without even making a token protest, Sherlock thought contemptuously. Not one peep out of her even when she had thrown up. She obviously hadn't inherited her father's courage either.

He could identify the exact origins of her accent with a little effort but the words she uttered were more interesting. Was she completely stupid? After the effort and upheaval that had gone into retrieving her, what in the world made her think she would be allowed to return to Cardiff. Even though personally he would be more than happy to see her disappear and return there, but John would object, and not just because of Moran, John would object because he had the old fashioned moralistic attitude that he should be looking after his daughter, his poor little motherless daughter. Did that bloody stupid woman Mary Morstan have to die and cause this chaos?

John stared at her with confusion, clearly out of his depth and it was Mrs Hudson who actually responded to the stupid question.   
  
" _But dear, you are going to live here with your father and Sherlock now, didn't they tell you"_

She spoke gently but firmly to the girl, Sherlock didn't miss the horrified flinch and neither did John. Mrs Hudson drew in a breath and instinctively put out a comforting hand towards the girl but she sidestepped the hand without looking at the elderly woman again. Mrs Hudson dropped her hand and looked at the girl, then back at John with distress. Sherlock gritted his teeth. There was a strained silence.

John brushed his hand over his hair and gave an unconscious sigh. " _C'mon Jocelyn_ " he began tentatively, trying to ignore her question and her reaction to Mrs Hudson's response, as he moved towards the stairs.

But the girl refused to budge, and suddenly Sherlock could see rage in her face and the stance of her body, " _You.. you didn't answer my question_ " she stuttered but it was temper not fear, and that chin, the one she had inherited from her father was stuck out determinedly.

Sherlock finally snapped, his patience, what little there had been of it, at an end. The brat was upsetting John, was upsetting Mrs Hudson and was upsetting him and he didn't want her here.   
  
" _Don't be more obtuse than you can help girl, Mrs Hudson has just answered your question, now follow your father to your room and stop being difficult"  
_  
His cold impatient answer drew him enraged looks from both father and daughter and a shocked scolding " _Sherlock_ " from Mrs Hudson but he shrugged his shoulders indifferently.

" _I asked why and I meant why, my father hasn't given a shit about me for the last fourteen years so why should I have to live with him now_ "   
  
Was the surprisingly bitter and coherent response directed solely to Sherlock.  
  
She didn't look at John or Mrs Hudson, who opened her eyes wide and stared sympathetically at John.  
  
Sherlock raised one eyebrow and tilted his head in surprise at her question.  
  
John had paled with distress, and then stiffened, and as he opened his mouth to try to explain things to his angry newly found daughter, Sherlock's eyes gleamed with retribution and he came up with the perfect retaliation for the aggravation, discomfort and inconvenience he had suffered and would continue to suffer because of this senseless, insensitive, inconsiderate bereaved brat.

He leant forward and smiled with cruel amusement, using the one expression he knew would enrage and frustrate any teenager.

" _Because we said so"_

* * *

 


	2. First day at school

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Does being mean come naturally to you or do you practise in the mirror every morning? The Prince of Darkness "helps" to get Jocelyn Jayne ready for her first day at school.  
> Includes gratuitous chocolate, face pulling and Sherlock being a git.

 

Sherlock was lying on the sofa in his blue dressing gown, and old grey pyjamas, when he heard the shower stop and seven minutes later, John arrived in the living room with his blonde hair damp, his feet bare, and his tee-shirt pulled untidily over his jeans. He was yawning, and he looked utterly ….John, his John. A glint appeared in Sherlock's eyes, as he raised himself up so that his head and arms hung over the top of the sofa.

" _What are you doing up_?" he asked, his voice a little deeper than normal, as his eyes skimmed John with interest, " _We were back late last night, why aren't you still asleep, I was just thinking of joining you"_

John smiled sleepily, oblivious to any undercurrents, and moved to the kitchen

" _Jocelyn's first day at school, making her breakfast and then take her so she knows where she is going"_

Sherlock flopped back down sulkily with a huff. That interloping child strikes again he thought with a snarl.

John looked at him with surprise, confused for a few seconds, but then really looked at him. He grinned with sympathy as he leant over the back of the sofa and ruffled Sherlock's curls affectionately. _"Late_ r" he promised huskily. " _Things to do first"_

Sherlock's pout turned into a small smile, and then he rose gracefully and headed towards the bedroom.

" _You couldn't make sure Jocelyn is up for me could you_?" John called from the kitchen

" _You are correct John, I couldn't_ " Sherlock responded haughtily refusing to stop,

" _Well now that's a real shame_ ," John drawled with mock disappointment. Sherlock stopped suspiciously and looked back at him, his head tilted

" _The sooner I take Jocelyn, the sooner I can come back"_ he carried on thoughtfully

" _I suppose it's just going to take longer to get her to school this morning"_

Sherlock suddenly smiled affably  
 _  
"Excellent deduction John, I am most happy to assist with your endeavours this morning"._

He bounded up the stairs and banged on the bedroom door, loudly, opened it a crack and bellowed.

" _Time to get up Jocelyn, now_ " and slammed the door shut, knocking it loudly twice more.

Jocelyn woke up with a start, who was shouting, who was banging on the door. She turned her head to stare bleary eyed at the alarm clock. What was going on, it was only 6.45 in the morning. Had they gone nuts? She lay back down and started to relax when there was another loud bang on the door, it was thrust open, and the Prince of Darkness himself poked his scowling head round the door, and when he saw she was still in bed just staring at him in horrified amazement, he growled sarcastically

" _How many times do you need to be told to get up Jocelyn?"_ She closed her eyes to block him out.

She so hated that git.

Sherlock had seen her reaction to his last entrance and he smirked. This wasn't a chore to be avoided after all. Annoying the brat was entertaining and satisfying; after all she annoyed him just by being here. There were endless opportunities in the coming weeks to "Help" to get her ready for school. He smirked with satisfaction. This morning was proving to be most entertaining.

He was half way down the stairs when he thought evilly, perhaps one more time was in order, he didn't want her to be late on her first day, and there was the more important reason that John would be home sooner and the flat would be free of her unwelcome presence for the whole day. One more time to make sure she was up and wide awake was definitely a good idea. He was just about to go back up when he saw John standing at the bottom of the stairs arms folded across his chest, with a very unimpressed expression on his face.

" _Problem John?"_ Sherlock asked innocently.

The unimpressed expression grew into an even bigger unimpressed expression. It had something to do with the exact lift of the right eyebrow and the muscle twitching next to those lovely firm lips.

" _I asked you to make sure she was up, not terrify the life out of her and half the street with your bellowing and antics"_

Sherlock took umbrage _"Antics, I don't "do" antics John"_

" _Could have fooled me"_ muttered Jocelyn grumpily as she slipped past him to the bathroom with her towel in her hands.

" _Anyone could fool you"_ Sherlock sniped back at her dismissively and as she turned round to glare at him, John barked with impatience

" _That's enough out of the pair of you, Jocelyn go have your shower and your breakfast will be ready when you come down. Sherlock if you can't be helpful why you don't go back to bed"_

and he swung round with a snap reeking of annoyed precise military movement.

Sherlock looked surprised at John's retreating back for a second, then frowned as he heard Jocelyn sigh on her way to the bathroom. What did she have to sigh about?

" _Not looking forward to your first day at School Jocelyn Jayne?"_ he asked with saccharine sweetness.

He saw her flinch away from him, her shoulders hunched defensively and she clenched her fists until they were white.

" _Does being mean come naturally to you or do you practice every morning in the mirror?_ "  
  
She whispered shakily, a slight sob in her voice and then fled to the bathroom.

The bewildered frown appeared between his brows again, she seemed to be upset, he might have been rather … sharp but he hadn't meant to make her actually cry.  
For some reason, Molly's words from that long ago Christmas party came to mind. " _You always say such horrible things, every time always."_ He hadn't meant to be horrible then either, not really.

The girl was an irritation and an intrusion but he didn't really want to make her cry. Well he didn't think he did, because other people's emotions were always so messy, and impossible to deal with, or rather he didn't want to deal with them. John was the exception to his rule, and even then sometimes he knew his reactions weren't good, but John always understood. And now the girl was distracting his John from him. Unacceptable.

Obviously she was also worried about the new school. He stared thoughtfully at the bathroom as he heard the shower running, then followed John's suggestion and went to the bedroom.

He was dressed and drinking his tea staring out of the window when she came into the living room, she was wearing the ubiquitous black shoes, black trousers and white polo shirt, and this time a grey cardigan with the gold school logo.  
Mycroft's assistant had dropped off the required uniform the day after John and Jocelyn had visited the school. Of course it had been a tussle of wills between his John's choice of state school and Mycroft's arrogant assumption that only a private school would do. He didn't tell John and would never tell Mycroft (although the irritating fool had smirked at him at one point as if he knew) but he did actually side with his brother on that one, in fact if it could be a private boarding school all the better.  
Of course John had won, and Jocelyn, Jocelyn had just kept her head down again and made no comment, even when John belatedly asked her for her opinion, she had shrugged her shoulders as if it didn't matter.  
John had looked at her as if he wanted to say something, and then said with false good humour " _fine, good, who wants a cup of tea?"_

In addition to the uniform, Anthea had dropped off, a new school bag, with notebooks, a full pencil case, maths set, and scientific calculator. The girl had looked at it and uttered a very polite and subdued thank you to the room in general. Then she had disappeared quietly to her room and hadn't come out until she had been called for her tea. Her face had been pale and she looked like she had been crying, but she had ignored the tentative questions from her father, had eaten her food and disappeared off to her room again.

She had yet to stay in the living room for the evening with the pair of them, not that it upset Sherlock but John seemed to be getting tenser about the situation by the day.

Now as she headed to the kitchen where her father had laid out breakfast, she didn't look at him once. He was not used to being ignored. A strange feeling that he recognised as a tinge of guilt hit him, but he brushed it aside. This situation was not of his making. He had even made certain concessions regarding his experiments and had she been grateful? No she had not.

When John had sat her down and told her about the rules for using the kitchen, she had looked at the pair of them as if they were insane.

" _So I may find body parts in the fridge and other experiments in the sink and the microwave"_ she had asked unable to hide her appalled dismay.

" _Sherlock has agreed to keep the "ingredients" for his experiments to the salad drawers enclosed in opaque coloured plastic bags and there will be nothing dangerous to health anywhere near food in the fridge or in the sugar bowl or kettle or the tea or coffee"_  
  
John had flashed a stern look at him at that point. Really that man had a memory like an elephant and talk about holding grudges, there hadn't actually been anything in the sugar during the Baskerville incident that was cold hard fact, even if he had assumed differently at the time.

" _Make sure you ask first before going to the fridge Jocelyn, just while Sherlock gets used to the new rules_ "  
  
John finished dryly, still glaring at him. Sherlock had rolled his eyes and let out a long suffering sigh.

She had looked wide eyed, disbelieving and a little bit frightened and had nodded her head, as if understanding the why wasn't important, but just agreeing with a pair of madmen was. That had almost been amusing, only John had looked…. stressed, had looked as if he wanted to say something more to reassure her but she turned away again, her shoulders hunched, and her body stiff as if she had heard enough.

He had not yet seen her relax her defensive posture in their presence or even around Mrs Hudson. Prickly, standoffish brat.

She finished her breakfast, and then had taken her dishes to the sink. But her father stopped her from beginning to wash up. He gently told her to get her stuff and they would set off.

She didn't want to be late on her first day did she, her father had tried to jolly her along, and he had missed the panicked frightened look she had unconsciously sent his way, but Sherlock hadn't, nor had he missed the way she straightened her shoulders and raised her head as if forcing herself to find the courage to deal with it, in an exact replica of her father's characteristic stance. Another frown crossed his brow as he turned back to look out of the window.

He was not feeling sorry for her, it was only school and she had been going to school long enough to know the pitfalls.

Jocelyn came back into the living room, with the new bag and wearing her coat, just as Mrs Hudson came into the flat.

" _Hello boys,"_ she called cheerfully and then focused on the silent girl standing there waiting obediently.

" _I thought I would wish you good luck Jocelyn dear for your first day at your new school, and give you a treat."_

She handed her a big red apple, and as John turned away to collect his coat, then slipped a bar of chocolate into Jocelyn's bag without John seeing her and winked naughtily at her.

Sherlock saw Jocelyn solemn face break into a surprised and pleased smile, her quiet thank you was a little husky, but it caused Mrs Hudson to raise one hand and gently pat the girl's cheek before clearing her throat and starting her chatter again

" _Your Dad's taking you is he dear, well that's nice, I'm sure there will be a lovely tea ready for you when you come back and you can tell us all about your first day_."

She bustled off into the bathroom to collect the laundry basket, and left Jocelyn and Sherlock alone in the room, waiting for John's re-emergence from the bedroom.

The silence became strained again, as Jocelyn refused to say anything and Sherlock used the time to study her. He realised that the small but genuine smile Jocelyn had given Mrs Hudson was the first time he had seen the girl smile at all.

Her first smile in Baker Street, maybe he should note it in a diary for John, that's what new parents did with their offspring didn't they. He could catalogue the "firsts" of her arrival, and present it to John at a later date; it might actually allow him to find a way to live with her intrusion. Because he knew his John would not contemplate her removal from his life now. Unfortunately she was not a puppy from a dog's home that could be returned if it weed too many times on the carpet, and made too much noise. John was stuck with her and therefore so was he, because he was not giving John up ever, ever again.

" _Ready to go Jocelyn"_ She startled at the sound of her father's voice behind her, and then nodded her head jerkily. For a second she looked scared and very young but her father didn't see it, as he was behind her

John looked at him with an expectant expression, what did he want, he wasn't going to walk her to school as well for heaven's sake, did John think she needed a royal procession. He looked blankly at him, and then as John jerked his head towards the girl, he understood, John obviously expected him to produce some words of encouragement. He raised an eyebrow in disbelief but John's expression was unrelenting. How utterly boring " _Have a … good day Jocelyn_ " he sang with false sincerity and John scowled at him.

Jocelyn flicked a quick look at her father and then turned to look at Sherlock; she was positioned so that her father still couldn't see her face. Her tone was perfectly sincere when she thanked him quietly so that her father could hear, then so quickly Sherlock almost wondered if he had imagined it,, she pulled a face and poked her tongue out at him.

Sherlock's eyes widened and he smirked as she bent to pick her bag up, John looked at him strangely, and then looked at his daughter and with a sigh he led the way.

He wasn't stalking them; he was gathering data, to allow him to develop a proper solution to the problem.

Sherlock stood and watched John and the girl walk up to the reception building of the school, her footsteps imperceptibly slowing. They made their way through the hordes of youths descending on the school grounds like squawking seagulls at a landfill site after a recent delivery.

John took her inside and then after ten minutes he left, from his vantage point Sherlock could see through the floor length glass doors and the girl was staring longingly out after her father, until she was collected by a teacher and taken into the depths of the school.

Sherlock fell into step besides John as he headed back to Baker Street. John looked at him with an unsurprised smirk. _"Making sure I can find my way home?"_ he mocked.

" _Your sense of direction is not as good as mine John"_ Sherlock commented mildly with total truth and the hope that it would distract John from his actual purpose in following them.

He allowed the silence to last for a while, John seemed lost in his own little world, there was a feeling of jealousy because John was not in their little world, he knew he was thinking of Jocelyn, and he supposed they would have to a "little chat" at some point in the not to distant future and then they..

" _She was afraid_ " his tongue uttered the words before his brain censored them.

" _Yes she was_ "John sighed in agreement " _She probably still is, but things will get better"_ he added trying to be positive, when Sherlock could see that he doubted his own words although he didn't challenge him on them. John needed to be positive.

" _Are you collecting her from school, this afternoon?"_

" _Yes, thought I would do it until she is happy she knows how to get to school and then back to Baker Street"_

Sherlock decided that he would make sure his data collection trips continued as long as John was escorting Jocelyn to school. This situation called for as much information and research as possible. He needed to see their interaction.

" _I am sure she will find Mrs Hudson's treat to be of some consolation"_ Sherlock commented carefully,

" _What, the bar of chocolate Mrs Hudson sneaked into her bag?_ " John responded unexpectedly with a slight smile.

" _And of course not forgetting the chocolate bar that you put in her bag before she came downstairs_ " Sherlock smirked as his partner's cheeks became very pink …..

* * *

 **Disclaimer:** As per only playing in the wonderful world of BBC Sherlock, because the next series won't be shown until next summer paaah !


	3. Help to find her way home

 

The policeman stood and watched the teenager go through the black door of the house next to Speedy's Café, his smile still pleasant as she turned towards him and gave a shy wave.

The smile turned to a slight frown as soon as she had gone through the door, he was determined that tomorrow he would walk the same beat as today. There was something wrong, she had worried him that kid, and it wouldn't do any harm for her to see his presence on her roundabout route home,

" _Is there a problem officer?"_ a pleasant male voice asked from behind him. The policeman swung around to see a calm blonde haired man standing there almost like a soldier at attention, besides a scowling taller pale faced man who said dismissively   
  
" _Really John if Lestrade had wanted us he wouldn't have sent a beat bobby"_

The policeman looked at the pair of them with confusion, until he recognised the one in the flash coat. It was that Holmes guy, the one who had pulled the fake death stunt and still worked with the Yard. So the other one must be Watkins, no Watson, the Doctor, who wrote up his cases on his blog.

" _Why would you think there's a problem sir_?" the policeman asked curiously.

The Holmes guy huffed with impatient exasperation, but the calm expression on the shorter man's face didn't change. " _You were staring at our front door_ " he made the statement sound like a question.

" _221 is your house is it Sir_?" the policeman asked courteously.

" _Don't be more stupid than you can help Officer, that's what he said didn't he?_ " Holmes muttered sarcastically, then swung to face the second man and growled " _Come on John_ " as he began to stride off down the street towards the door.

The policeman shot him a calculating look, like a teacher watching an unruly 5 year old before deciding to stop his misbehaviour, and then looked back at Watson, who had ignored his friend and obligingly nodded, a curious look on his face.

" _Do you have a daughter sir or is she the other gentleman's child_?" he asked his voice still calm and non-threatening.  
Sherlock came to an abrupt stop, and swung around to glare offended at the policeman, and about to vehemently deny it but to his irritation the man was ignoring him and looking at John's worried face.

He heard John's voice deepen a little as he asked " _Is she ok, what's happened?"_

The policeman raised a calming hand, " _Nothing to worry about sir, just made sure she came home safe and sound."_

" _I don't understand_ " John spoke, a small frown above those indigo eyes which were locked on to the policeman's face after he sent one glance at the door of 221B.

" _She seemed to have .. lost her way a little so I just helped her to find her way home"_

It seemed to Sherlock that the policeman's words were saying one thing but his voice was saying something else, and from the expression on John's face he thought so as well.

The policeman stared straight into John's eyes as he suggested gently

" _You might want to drop her off to school and collect her personally for a while. She seems to be having a little trouble finding her way home."_

 

Again there was a hint of a second meaning behind the man's words and John stiffened in response.

" _Oh for God's sake, she was escorted there and back for the first week, she knows the route perfectly well between the school and Baker Street"_  

Sherlock interrupted with irritation, which grew as he saw that the policeman and John were still ignoring him.

The policeman didn't take his eyes from John's face to acknowledge Sherlock's words. He continued carefully,  
  
" _Lost someone close to her recently has she?"_

John's eyebrows hit his hairline, as he frowned at the policeman. There was a short silence before he admitted with difficulty " _Her mother"_ he replied.

The policeman nodded his head and smiled a little sadly  
  
" _She has that look about her, I am sorry for your loss; it must be difficult for the two of you"._

John mumbled softly without really thinking, _"She hasn't been with us very long"_

The policeman's face took on an expression of sympathy and nodded in understanding _  
  
"Ah, lots of life changes in a very short period of time"_ he paused as if he was considering his next words, then he deliberately looked at Sherlock instead of John  
  
" _She was down by the river when I came across her, not really on her way home from the school to Baker street is it?_ "

Sherlock was puzzled, why would the girl be by the river? It was definitely not the route she had been shown to get back to the flat.

" _Seemed really fascinated with the water, she was staring at it for a long time… like I said, you might want to drop her off and collect her personally for a little while, until she feels a bit better"_

Sherlock saw a gleam of fear appear in John's eyes as he paled slightly at the policeman's words, then Sherlock suddenly understood what the policeman was trying to say.  
He knew the subtleties of social interaction sometimes passed him by, and John's help was invaluable in deciphering the puzzle but this one he finally understood. The girl's behaviour had disturbed a policeman so much he was obliquely warning them of that she might harm herself even her possible suicide?

John was shaking the policeman's hand and then heading to the front door, while Sherlock stood there lost in thought. He looked at the copper who was just turning to continue on his way. Mid to late thirties, still a constable, no ambitions to go further up the ranks. Widower, two kids, one of each. Left handed.

" _Officer_ " Sherlock called abruptly, " _How did you know?_ " The Policeman didn't turn to face him just said sadly   
  
" _Been there, done that, got the t-shirt mate. Only I didn't notice my lad in time. His attempt failed, thank the lord but it shouldn't have happened in the first place"_

He looked over his shoulder at Sherlock and his expression was earnest.

" _Don't ever underestimate kids' feelings, you might think they are ok but they aren't. Look out for her"._

 Unusually Sherlock allowed him to walk away with the last word as he stared thoughtfully after him before he followed John to the flat.

John had taken his coat off and out the kettle on. He looked at Sherlock as he came through the door and Sherlock could see the unexpressed fear in his eyes.

Sherlock knew that John's fear had some basis in his own past emotions; he had been tempted too, in the dark days of his return to the UK from his deployment on active service, when he felt useless and alone, before they had met, and then when Sherlock had "died". He had admitted it to Sherlock once in a whisper in the dead of night when they had both shared details of their lowest points. It was after all why John had so conventiently had the gun when they met. John did not want to believe that his daughter shared the same trait.

They heard her footsteps on the stairs and then she made her way into the living room.

She was still in her uniform, her cheeks still pink from the bitter wind after her extended walk home.

" _Are you making tea?"_ she asked quietly. Sherlock was surprised; she rarely started conversations with either of them. He looked at her carefully as her father answered her. She looked tired; there were bags underneath her eyes and her face was paler than usual. She normally tried to keep her expression as neutral as possible when she had to interact with him or John, but today she looked shaken and sad. And she was voluntarily seeking them out as if she needed company.

He knew her sleep was often disturbed, he could hear her when he was working through the night, but she never mentioned it, and he always forgot to mention it to John because he was caught up in his experiments and the hunt for Moran and the truth be told, he really wasn't that bothered about her as long as she kept out of his way. She wasn't on his list of subjects to talk to John about. In fact it was definitely out of sight out of mind regarding Jocelyn, and even when she was in sight, he refused to allow her into his mind.  
He suddenly felt a twinge of something unpleasantly like guilt, perhaps he should have told John before now. If something happened to her, it would hurt John, and that would not be good. Inconsiderate brat.

He came to a sudden decision and texted Mycroft, as he listened to John talk to her about her day. They were like very polite strangers, not knowing what to say to each other.

He sighed impatiently; John was pussyfooting around the subject. " _Jocelyn_ " he asked coolly _"Why were you by the river_?" John shot him an irritated scowl as he rolled his eyes at him in exasperation but those same deep blue eyes were oddly grateful.

She looked at him startled for a moment, but she didn't query how he knew, one of the benefits of his reputation he thought amused. Her expression changed to one of sullen defiance, and she shrugged her shoulders " _Just went for a little walk"_ she murmured quietly and she turned her face away as she went to walk back to her room. Before John could say anything, Sherlock hardened his tone and said provocatively

" _Your father and I are talking to you young lady, I think you should pay us the courtesy of staying to listen"_

She blinked at him in surprise and then flushed with both anger and embarrassment.

" _Well that's a change, you normally just talk at me, I'm not used to being included in an actual conversation"_

she snapped back without thinking, then her eyes widened as she looked at her father and then Sherlock and muttered a quick almost scared apology.

John looked at the pair of them in angry disbelief; he pointed at Sherlock and growled _"You shut up_ ", then turned to Jocelyn, " _You sit down_ ". The two of them looked at him and complied with alacrity. Sherlock was not going to argue with that particular expression on his face, John looked like he was almost at the end of his tether.

" _Now, we are going to have our meal, and then we are going to sit down and spend a nice evening together. You Sherlock can leave your experiments alone for the night and you Jocelyn Jayne will not be disappearing to your room after your meal, is that clear?_ "

He barked in full officer mode. Sherlock smirked at him but made no objection, Jocelyn stiffened slightly and seemed to find her hands fascinating " _I have homework to do"_ she protested but quietly, " _You can do it here in the living room_ " her father was implacable. She still didn't look at him just nodded her head.

Sherlock watched John as he watched her with baffled anger and a hint of pain then saw his jaw set as he spoke firmly to the girl.

" _Jocelyn I will be walking you to and from school for the next few days, then I would prefer it if you took the route home that you are shown from now on, please don't make detours to the river, I want you home by 3.45pm at the latest, do you understand?"_

For a second, Sherlock thought she was going to argue with her father, but after a tense pause, as if she was biting her tongue, she simply said " _Yes"_ and carried on sipping her tea. She was refusing to look at either of them.

Sherlock looked at her and felt the familiar disdain, again she was just accepting what she was told to do, without any attempt to find out why or challenge it when she was obviously angry and upset. Was this really John Watson's child or was she some sort of cuckoo in their nest.

His phone alerted him to the message from Mycroft. He smiled with satisfaction. This should solve all their problems, and he wouldn't have to deal with this nonsense anymore. He could get back to the hunt, John would be happier knowing there was a professional involved and be able to stop worrying about her, and the girl might even feel better, not that it mattered much to him but that would make John feel better and he would be able to pay more attention to him, instead of that high maintenance bra… er child.

Win win solution all round, he was a genius as he repeatedly told everyone.

His voice was rich with satisfaction as he stated

" _Home by 3.45pm and then you have plenty of time to eat and change before you need to attend the Counselling sessions twice a week at 5.00pm"_

There was a choked strangled coughing sound from John as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing but he congratulated himself as he saw the incredulous expression on the girl's face.

Obviously he had amazed them with his solution to the underlying problem.

Sometimes he amazed even himself with his astuteness, he thought as he sipped his tea with the air of a job well done.

* * *

 


	4. That don't impress me much!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Singing, grumpy consulting detectives who are much clever than rocket scientists, dissecting eyeballs, sock stealing aliens, and laughter.
> 
> "That don't impress me much"

 

The mad dash through the streets of London in the early hours should have exhausted John but instead he felt exhilarated, buoyed up, released from the stresses, strains and sheer worry of the last three weeks. Back in the hallway of 221b Sherlock made some idiotic remark that struck him as funny and they had both collapsed with laughter against the wall. Just like old times John thought with a pang of combined pain and pleasure as they had grinned at each other like loons.

Then Sherlock saw John’s face sober “Three weeks Sherlock” he said softly “Nearly three weeks and I haven’t heard her laugh once.”

Sherlock raised his eyebrow but remained silent as John continued “It seems like she’s getting more withdrawn each day, she barely looks at me, and she ignores you. She won’t speak unless she’s spoken to and she stays in her bedroom most of the time”

John’s gaze was fixed on the opposite wall, his face impassive but Sherlock could hear the worry in his voice. Sherlock offered no verbal comfort but since his return he had tried to relieve John of any obvious worries or concerns which impacted on their life together, this was obviously something he had better look into.

  

Jocelyn was being a pain, singing tuneless songs when he was trying to work. Those damn earphones in her ears. He was going to pull them out of her head and dump them with her MP3 player down the loo if she didn’t shut up.

He had work to do, and she was distracting him. John wasn’t around to deal with her, he was at the clinic and he should have been home by now, did there have to be a flu epidemic this week? And now he was stuck with the brat. The humming, singing intruding, irritating brat. Why couldn’t she go to bedroom like she normally did and leave him in peace so that he could work?  He needed to concentrate.

She’d come home, changed into that pair of shabby jeans, the only ones she ever wore, a black t-shirt with some stupid words about chemicals and romance which did nothing for her colouring in the slightest and for some obscure reason also wearing her old school uniform cardigan and then padded into the living room in her socks, she’d brought her homework books and spread them on the coffee table.  
  
Then had sat down beside it so she could work on them. She hadn’t said a word to him, pretending he wasn’t there. Ignoring him again.  Infuriatingly rude ankle biter, the least she could do if she was going to annoy him would be to pay him some attention.  
  
He’d looked at her askance and she had just glared at him, a glint in those blue eyes which made her look remarkably like her father for a few seconds and then said in that soft lilting voice of hers “ _My room’s cold, I’m not freezing to death doing my homework_ ” he heard the silent “ _because of you_ ” at the end of the sentence and nearly smirked.  
  
They were currently engaged in a war of attrition when John was not around, and she was getting braver and bolder by the day. It was almost amusing. She was nice and polite when her father was present but when he wasn’t, Sherlock was fair game, but then he had started it, so he couldn’t really complain when she upped the ante.  
  
His retaliation was always swift and made her more determined to best him. She was stubborn, just like her father, only Sherlock found that character trait annoying in her when he appreciated it in her… no his John.

By mutual unspoken agreement they behaved when John was around. Although sometimes he would look between the two of them and frown as if he was aware that something was going on, open his mouth to say something, then catch sight of his daughter’s face and stop with a weary shrug of the shoulders.

So today was her day for passive intrusion was it? He’d soon see about that. He sat back and considered her, whilst she pretended to ignore him. He knew she was pretending because every now and then she would flick him an uncomfortable little glance from under her eyelashes to see what he was doing. She was still nervous around him although she tried to hide it and he could use that, he thought happily.  
  
How fast could he get her back to her room and out of his way?  
  
He could get out some of the body parts in the kitchen, and explain to her the decomposition rate for eyeballs in vinegar, maybe slice one up and show her. Though he still needed those eyeballs for the experiment, he wouldn’t really want to waste them. Molly was being a pain about restocking him with body parts at the moment, since he had made a casual comment about the ugliness of her cat so until he sweet talked his way back into her good graces he had better not waste any of the body parts he did have.  
And there was always the real possibility that Jocelyn Jayne would complain to her father, and then he and John would have the “level 3 Talk” again, the one where he was told it was not good to ignore the sensibilities of others, especially those of a grieving and anxious teenage girl, and that would be indescribably utterly boring, and they would have an argument because Sherlock would stop listening  and then John would refuse to make him tea for the day and it was too boring for words, so that was out.

No he’d save that for a time when she was really, really irritating him.

He could start to play his violin, loudly but she did have those damn headphones in so she would probably drown him out, and Mrs Hudson would only come upstairs to complain, and insist on making the girl tea and giving her some cake or biscuit thing, and chatting to her about her day, as if it were remotely interesting and then it would be two people who were therefore further delaying his work.

What on earth? She’d stopped humming and was now singing underneath her breath? What didn’t impress her much?

Perhaps he should shout at her, he knew she hated that, she had said as much on the surveillance DVD when Mycroft the fat git had dropped his bombshell. Unfortunately he was pretty sure the “Talk” would escalate to level 1 and involve a very angry John ignoring him for days and the loss of certain rather enjoyable activities if he did that to her.

“You've got being right down to an art”.  He blinked in surprise. Well that was a change; she was actually admitting his deductive reasoning skill was an art form. How unexpected and how true.

It was rather odd she was singing it but then she had been brought up in Wales and the Welsh had this rather strange penchant for breaking into song, especially at various sporting venues.

However if she had plucked up the courage to admit that then maybe he could try being pleasant for five minutes or so and then point out to her rather more gently than he would have done, that he needed to work so could she push off back to her room. He prepared himself to smile at her but then she sang a little louder

“You think you're a genius-you drive me up the wall. You're a regular original, a know-it-all”.

She refused to look at him but there was an infuriating little smirk on her lips

His eyes narrowed, the cheeky little …  and to think he would have actually tried to be nice to her. He would even have told John he had been nice to her

She carried on singing but louder now, the words clearly enunciated,

“Oh-oo-oh, you think you're special. Oh-oo-oh, you think you're something else  
Okay, so you're a rocket scientist, That don't impress me much”

And now she was looking him fully in the face, with mischief dancing across her features. Her indigo eyes alight with defiant challenge.

Sherlock sat there gobsmacked, and then his pride was offended, his chin went up and he looked down his nose at the girl kneeling at the coffee table

“How insulting, I’m not a rocket scientist; that would be too easy. I’m much cleverer than that”. he sounded like an offended toddler.

There was a stunned silence as the two antagonists stared at each other and then a peal of laughter rang out, loud and clear as if it was a force of nature and couldn’t be stopped before Jocelyn tried to stifle her laughter behind her hand, as surprised as Sherlock at her outburst but she couldn’t stop giggling as she saw the expression on his face.

Sherlock studied her as if she was an insane extra terrestrial with no feet who had just stolen his entire collection of socks, but deep in those icy intent eyes there was a gleam of humour. Though he’d be damned if he was going to let that brat know that she’d almost been funny.  
  
Maybe she had won this round. Maybe he’d use an eyeball after all. Let’s see how much singing she’d be doing once she found one of them on her pillowcase when she woke up in the morning. Then he started to laugh

 

Neither of them noticed John standing in the entrance to the living room, with an amused and oddly relieved smile on his face. 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN:
> 
> The words to Miss Twain’s “That don’t impress me much” are beautifully appropriate don’t you think. Couldn’t resist and no infringement intended. Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> Please read and review xx
> 
>  
> 
> Disclaimers: No infringement intended.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's thoughts when they collect Jocelyn Jayne from the Mukerjees after she ran away to Cardiff.

Sherlock had relished the variety of expressions which crossed the faces of the two girls when they had not so stealthily entered through the Mukerjees’ back door into the large family kitchen where Mycroft, Sherlock and John were being plied with tea by the kind and increasingly anxious mother of the girl’s best friend.   
It was still relatively early in the morning, and they had obviously been trying to avoid waking everyone up. Although their budding careers as ninja shadows were severely hampered by the loud whispers and munching and chewing of fast food.  Their alarmingly pitiful attempts at silence were actually unnecessary, Sherlock thought, his smirk condescending, because the Mukerjee household had been roused by the numerous and increasingly desperate phone calls from Mycroft’s car. Once they had arrived at the Layla’s home, a boringly nice terraced house in a boringly nice street, two streets away from their little corner shop, the family still present in the building, had descended upon them demanding to know what had happened to the two girls.   
  
Sherlock had taken one look at John’s expression and wisely kept silent begrudgingly allowing his brother to take the lead. Mycroft had pulled his usual national security card trick successfully at the parents like the tricky illusionist that he was, but the youngest son, the only one of the three brothers actually in the house at the time, had nodded politely whilst maintaining a rather more sceptical air. He had even dared to murmur under his breath, that he knew the two girls were pains but calling on government forces was a bit excessive. His mother had thrown him a frown and ordered him to join his brothers whose turn it was to open the family’s newsagent shop ready for their influx of early morning customers on their way to work.   
Sherlock had found it all rather tedious but mindful of his John’s state of mind he had kept his usually vocal and loud opinions to himself

Jocelyn Jayne deserved everything that was heading her way for this stunt and the idiotic friend with her had deliberately ignored Sherlock’s brilliant attempts to warn the pair of them of the lurking danger represented by the black saloon car. So he had no sympathy to spare for them.

The two girls had taken one look at all the adults waiting patiently in the kitchen for them and actually winced. Layla had tried to breeze her way through the uncomfortable moment by brightly smiling and beginning to chatter but one word from her frowning mother was enough to silence her.

Jocelyn’s eyes had skimmed over Mycroft, Sherlock, the Mukerjees until they had come to rest on her father. John had stared steadily back at her, his voice was utterly calm as he said “ Time to say Goodbye Jocelyn, we need to be on our way, we have a long drive ahead of us.” The girl had flinched and as she went to open her mouth, John had raised one eyebrow almost daring her to argue. She dropped her eyes from his and made her very subdued farewells.

Jocelyn Jayne had been practically frogmarched to Mycroft’s obscenely large car, whilst her stunned friend was receiving a rather nasty dressing down from her parents. Before they had reached the door, the girl had shown a surprising amount of backbone and darted back into the kitchen to apologise and ask for leniency for her friend. John had followed her, with his jaw clenched, quite ready at that point to pick her up and just carry her to the car, but he calmed down as he heard what was said to her. It was Layla’s father who had smiled with fond patience at the girl and merely told her she had her own apologies to make to her father and his friends. That infuriating kid had hugged both Layla’s parents with the ease of long familiarity and made her reluctant way back to her father who was glaring at her with a thunderous expression, and then ushered her into the back of the car.

After one hesitant pathetic attempt to apologise, which had gone down with all the high flying success of a lead balloon, as they had all simply stared at her, Mycroft in irritation, John with a burning rage that was exacerbated by his relief that she was finally safely in the car with them, and Sherlock with annoyance and indifference, he really didn’t care that the girl was trying to apologise. The three men had simply not reacted to her, so she had  tried almost instinctively to make herself invisible by hunching her shoulders and then had refused to lift her head to look at any of them. It was to all their relief when exhaustion triumphed over her desperate need to make herself as small as possible and the girl had slept for nearly the length of the trip back to London.   
Sherlock considered her objectively, trying to avoid a descent into vitriol. It had been a long and worrying night after a long and tiring day. How dare the little shit do this to John? He calmed himself and returned to his observation. She looked fragile and impossibly young in her old shabby clothes. For an uncomfortable few moments she reminded him of the younger members of the homeless network, those that still harboured hope for a better future despite their circumstances. Strangely his stomach clenched as if he had eaten something which disagreed with him. He refused to think about why, but after the odd physical reaction, the fact that she was safe in the car with them seemed to ease his stupid symptoms. He drew a rather deeper breath than normal, and whilst Mycroft swiftly turned to look at him for what seemed to be an age, he kept his face impassive as he went back to studying the troublesome ankle biter. Her face was sad and exhausted, her body immobile as if afraid to actually move from her father’s lap. John, in the relative safety of Mycroft’s car, had finally given into his own exhaustion and dropped off to sleep, his head resting back against the seat, mouth slightly open, his breathing deep but relaxed as if his body had given into the relief of having the annoying little twerp safe by his side.  
That left Sherlock and his brother as the only two occupants of Mycroft’s ridiculous status symbol of a car who were awake enough to have a conversation. Right as if that was going to happen.   
He discounted the driver and Mycroft’s PA in the front of the mechanical beast because he was not going to get a crick in his neck to speak to someone he had absolutely no interest in. Therefore Sherlock and Mycroft pointedly ignored each other in favour of their smart phones, and there was a calm silence which bordered on the uncomfortable, but never actually got there, except for the one time when Mycroft stared pointedly at the two unaware sleeping figures and then turned deliberately to his younger brother.

“Are you able to cope with this?” he asked coolly but softly, unwilling to disturb the silence, and potentially wake the exhausted father and daughter duo.

Mycroft had surprised him, again. This was getting tedious. Mycroft was not supposed to be able to do that anymore. Their relationship was better than it had been before the “fall”, and he had proved an invaluable ally whilst Sherlock had been hunting down the rest of Moriarity’s network, but had Sherlock become too complacent with him? God forbid, they both enjoyed their arguments, in fact there was no one Sherlock enjoyed arguing with more, especially when he was in a bad mood, and he was still suspicious of everything Mycroft did. They were Holmes, it was inevitable.   
Sherlock looked at him narrowly, then those startling eyes flickered towards John and his daughter but he didn’t respond. He would wait to see where Mycroft was going with this.

Mycroft sighed “Answer me Sherlock, do we need to make contingency plans? You know she is a feature of his life now; he won’t let her go easily, especially after this little escapade, which means... “

“I know what it means Mycroft” Sherlock snapped, irritated and ignoring the deep disquiet at the words “contingency plans”. He’d be damned if he was giving up his life with John again, it was not going to happen, he didn’t care if John had children crawling out of the blasted woodwork. Well he did, but Sherlock Holmes could be an incredibly stubborn bastard when he wanted to be and Dear God the image of hordes of John Watson “mini-mes” stampeding through Baker Street was one that he could happily bury in the very same grave that had held his empty coffin. He didn’t even know how to relate to one of the things, if John had any more, he’d have to set traps for the little rodents.

Mycroft persisted with all the stubbornness of an immovable brick wall, “which means Sherlock that you have to be part of a “family”. Mycroft uttered the word family as if it was a slightly shameful disease. Sherlock could definitely empathise with that.  But John, his John wanted this, wanted both Sherlock and the girl. John was still struggling to find a way to deal with the dynamics but he was also an incredibly stubborn bastard, but what was worse, he was a stubborn self-sacrificing bastard, and that meant ultimately the girl would win, that he could lose him again if Sherlock refused to accept her in their lives.   
If John was forced to choose, he would choose the defenceless, vulnerable, grieving young girl currently prone on his lap. Not through love, not yet, but because of duty and he wouldn’t, couldn’t leave the girl to the State’s tender mercies.

Sherlock glared fiercely at the sleeping girl, resentment, jealousy and dislike rising to the fore. He didn’t care if he was being petty, he had sacrificed three years of his life, of John’s life, for John, his conductor of light. If Moriarty and his minions couldn’t keep Sherlock away from John, then Jocelyn Jayne Morstan didn’t stand a chance. The whiny welsh brat was not going to come between them.  
It was almost as if she could feel the enmity directed at her as suddenly there was a low whimper, and her bottom lip trembled. Sherlock smirked uncharitably. Her father moved restlessly but didn’t wake.

“Oh for God’s sake Sherlock” Mycroft muttered with impatient irritation “You are not in the school playground anymore trying to warn off an encroaching child from your best friend” Sherlock raised his eyebrows and focused on his brother disdainfully, “I never did any such thing, as you well know I did not have a best friend and I did not use the playground, it was much too boring” he responded with a huff before he turned back to stare at the girl again. His focus was drawn to her like a magnet and he did not like it.  
Sherlock couldn’t take his eyes from her pale face. He began to catalogue his observations, she was too thin, too pale, the dark circles around her eyes would have done justice to a workaholic twice her age, and her lips seemed to be permanently set in a downward curve, her shoulders were hunched defensively even in sleep, and she didn’t dare to move as if she was only waiting to be sent away. Some of his anger began to ease. She did not realise her own power over her father. She was living on her nerves because she wasn’t sure of her position in this strange little household.

Unwillingly Sherlock’s extraordinary brain began to replay the conversation between the two teenagers. Sherlock had never been afraid to ask for or even demand what he wanted, the girl had been afraid for so long she didn’t know how to ask for what she wanted anymore. He drew a lungful of the processed filtered air pumping through the car and allowed his jealousy and resentment to drain away. He had to be clever enough to not force John into the position where he had to choose between the girl and himself.

 No, he corrected himself, not the girl, he had to get used to calling her by her proper name, Jocelyn, Jocelyn Jayne. It was a simple thing which would please John, and he could make the effort, and the girl, Jocelyn would respond to it. Despite her surly teenage behaviour, Jocelyn was desperate to belong again. She was just afraid that she wasn’t really wanted.

He might not be good at emotions but he knew that people warmed to you when you gave them something they wanted. Jocelyn Jayne’s revealing conversation with her little fiery friend was amble breeding ground for experimentation. The integration of Jocelyn Jayne into their partnership, (he wasn’t going to say family, he bloody wasn’t) was a challenge that he intended to conquer.

First things first, Phones, mobile phones, a smart phone for the g… Jocelyn Jayne. He had heard the longing and frustration in her voice when talking to that Layla girl. Pink, girls liked pink, he would get her a pink smartphone. He sank back besides his brother in satisfaction, ignoring the quizzical expression on Mycroft’s face, well pleased with his first foray into the mind of a teenage girl.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well its been a long time, but I have been writing for other stories. This little collection is my odds and sods, so not really going to update regularly. Hope you enjoy, let me know what you think. Did this whilst had a bit of a block on The Sacrifice .
> 
> Hugs to all xx

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimers… No infringement intended, not mine, only playing in the wonderful world of BBC Sherlock, (Only little Joss is mine)


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